


if this is the end of the world then we’re gonna raise the dead

by anupturnedboat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Apocalypse, Blood Magic, Drabble, Dystopia, Gen, Isaac-centric, Post-Canon, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 05:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anupturnedboat/pseuds/anupturnedboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe the world is ending, maybe it’s not, but there is no time to consider words like pandemic or plague or apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if this is the end of the world then we’re gonna raise the dead

There are whispers along Rue Damrémont, mutterings about a sickness, the kind that burns you from the inside out. Isaac briefly wonders if werewolves are immune as he lingers among the dead in the Cimetière de Montmartre listening for only one word: vampire.

Maybe the world is ending, maybe it’s not, but there is no time to consider words like pandemic or plague or apocalypse. Chris books them in first class back to the states.

They are in the French Quarter for two weeks before all flights are grounded. It is alarming how quickly food becomes scarce, and how efficiently water carries sickness along. The city begins to burn, and maybe vampires aren’t their biggest problem anymore.

There are over nineteen hundred treacherous miles between Louisiana and Beacon Hills. Chris teaches him how to siphon gas from cars stopped along the highway. Sometimes they stop and fight and try not to kill. Sometimes they have no choice, and they do.

Isaac catches what game he can, but he’s never been a very proficient hunter, so they scavenge their way across several unrecognizable states. In New Mexico everything smells of desperation, creosote and ash. Isaac falls asleep thinking the stars look strange as Chris coughs blood into the dirt. The next morning Chris has disappeared into the desert, and Isaac knows there is no use following.

He leaves the car behind (he’ll make better time traveling like a wolf) but slings Chris’s bow over his shoulder. There is a silver arrowhead in his pocket.

Beacon Hills is mostly just embers and twisted metal skeletons. The McCall house stops him cold. All that is left is blown out windows, singed stucco and a jutting piece of roof under Scott McCall’s bedroom window.

Isaac watches for signs from behind a tangle of debris - because maybe ...

A wave of red through a gash on the second floor speeds his heart. Lydia has always been pretty, but today she is resplendent as she holds Stiles up. She is Joan of Arc, she is Florence Nightingale. She is a warrior princess in a hoodie, with a shotgun strapped over her shoulder.

He steps forward. Lydia squints into the sun, then raises a hand, beckoning.

Derek lopes down the street raises his muzzle and howls.

Stiles’ hands shake when he isn’t touching Lydia and his eyes follow her every move. This is the moment Isaac knows that Scott is gone.

They pass around a bottle of something that leaves a bad taste on his tongue. At sunset, they crawl through the blasted out wall of Scott’s bedroom to the roof.

Derek runs the tip of one of Talia Hale’s claws against each of their palms, opening deep lines that bleed down their fingers. They sit shoulder to shoulder on what remains of the roof. Stiles and Lydia lace their fingers tightly, their foreheads pressed together. Isaac takes her other hand, then pulls his knees up to his chest and closes his eyes. Derek presses their palms together, and growls low in his chest.

“You got here just in time,” Lydia rasps, “there won’t be a black moon for another two years.”


End file.
